A/N: This is my RCiJ gift for knavessofhearts based on her prompt "Strangers caught in a snowstorm". I am playing loose with the 'strangers' part since these two do not know each other outside of work. Beta'ed by IBrokeBad.

Cusco Energy, a multinational company with offices scattered worldwide, is a far cry from its touted motto: Quality is Our Aim. Lack of standard operating procedures, fickle-minded managers, measly employee's benefits, and overworked workers do not make for quality work. An employee usually ends up doing the job of two people while superiors lick their managers in every conceivable way, figuratively and literally.

Belle French is the latest addition to the workforce at Cusco Energy's Maine office. An optimistic person by nature, the company's morale is apparent when her optimism stretches paper-thin within six months of employment. Her work involves tracking down the company's assets. It requires interacting with all of their offices, sometimes demanding odd working hours. And today is quickly proving to be one of those long and agonising days.

"Who is this idiot?" Belle turns to her colleague, August Booth, glaring at him as if he is responsible for her ire. The scruffy man holds up a finger and continues to type furiously on his keyboard with his other hand. His perfectly manicured spiked hair now stands like a dead potted plant, a sure sign that he has had enough of people's stupidity for the day. It could also be that he's at fault and is too stubborn to admit it. Belle doesn't know nor does she care; she has her own set of problems to deal with.

August mutters unintelligibly under his breath—probably about how he's better qualified to be the manager instead of an incompetent buffoon. As if he is any better. Belle directs her glare back at her monitor, hoping it would somehow burn the idiot who sent her the email.

"What is it?" August appears next to her.

"Read this," Belle growls and turns her monitor roughly, nearly toppling it with the force.

A crease slowly forms on August's forehead as he reads the email trail. "What the hell?"

"Exactly my reaction," Belle taps her foot. "I asked for a contact list from Wayne. This other guy butts in and wants to know how it'll benefit him and his office." The tapping gets louder. "Just give me the bloody list! The other offices didn't even bat an eyelash when I asked. It's just a contact list; it wouldn't benefit anyone other than me." The tapping stops and Belle rubs her temples.

"Can I tell him that?" she adds as an afterthought.

A raised eyebrow and a scoff answer her question.

"I've handled that dude. He's a difficult man, so your reasons need to be solid for him to get off your back." August sits back in his chair and continues with his work. Later, the song 'Dream On' plays from his laptop, a slight grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," Belle scowls. Straightening her back, she proceeds to type out her reply. Satisfied with her response, she clicks on the 'Send' button, praying the enquirer will not question her further.

"Belle!" David Nolan, her senior team member, shouts from his desk. "Catch!" A can flies above August's head, lightly grazing the top of his lifeless hair. Belle quickly thrusts out her hand to catch it.

"What's this for?" she shakes the can in her hand.

"Your inauguration," David smiles. "You're now a true member of our department. Emma, get the crown!"

A grinning blonde-haired woman sneaks up behind Belle to place a pink and yellow abomination on her head.

"But I've been here for 6 months!"

"You're not officially one of us if you haven't met Gold," Emma explains.

"Gold? The one who wants to know how a contact list would benefit him? That Gold?"

Three heads nod at her question.

"Wait, how did you know I was talking about him?"

"There's only one person who can rile up anyone in our department with inane questions," says David.

"And that's Gold," Emma supplies. "Also, August confirmed our suspicion via office messenger."

"I'm almost afraid to ask..." Belle trails off as she takes in the mix of displeasure and glee on her colleagues' faces. "Surely he can't be that—," Emma cuts her off with a finger pressed to her lips.

"If you say what I think you're going to say, don't say it." Belle blinks at the warning colouring Emma's tone. "Anyone who does will go through a hellish week at work." Belle shrinks in her chair. A hellish week is not on her wish list.

Belle giggles nervously. "You're making it sound as if he'd place a curse on everyone. Did all of you have that unpleasant of an experience with him?"

Three pairs of eyes look at each other before Emma sits on Belle's desk while David and August roll their chairs closer to Belle. In a hushed tone Emma begins her tale of the infamous Mr. Gold, "Gold is like an ingrown toenail. The more you try to dig it out, the more painful it'll be."

"We've all had bad experiences to share. The scrooge fought me over an invoice with a variance of 1 cent," David stresses on the amount. He leans in his chair, arms tightly crossed. "It took two months of onerous calculations and long nights of conference call to convince him. He wanted to know why there was a variance and when I gave an explanation, he wanted to know the breakdown of each invoiced line item. Then he demanded to know why the charges were based on per person instead of a bundle cost. It was a long trail of questions that stretched for weeks!"

August snorts at David's frustration—a small vein throbs above his left eye and a tinge of pink creeps up his ears. "That was nothing compared to what I experienced." Apparently, now it has become a game of who had it worse than August. "Three years ago, our headcount declined. This trend should reflect in the number of software users. Gold asked for a comparison report between that year and the previous year. I was a new employee and wanted to impress, so I did what he asked. I overworked myself until I got sick." August pauses at David's eye roll before continuing, "As I was saying, I got sick, but I pulled through and submitted the report to him. For my first performance review, I requested for his feedback thinking he would put in a good word or two considering I busted my ass doing that report. Instead, Gold caused others to question my credibility and he nearly put me under monitoring by the HR, but Mel helped me out of that tight spot."

"How did you know Gold was the cause? Wasn't his review supposed to be confidential?" Belle asks. Something doesn't add up in August's story, but knowing how loose the tongues are in this company, she's not surprised if he manages to wheedle out the information with his charm and that creepy smoulder of his. Belle shudders at the memory of being at the receiving end of the latter. It was on her second day at work and they hit it off like old friends. But when he invaded her personal space with a demented smoulder plastered on his face, she reacted rather... violently. Six months in her employment she can still recall his howls when she kneed him in the groin.

"Let's just say I have my sources," August winks.

"Which level of hell did Gold drag you through?" Belle turns her head to look at Emma.

The woman in question looks reluctant to answer, but when she opens her mouth to say something, the telltale clacking of dangerously high heels approaches them. Melanie Ewer, head of their department and popularly known as Mother Dragon, takes in the sight before her. A raised eyebrow is all it takes to break up the huddled group.

"Emma. Office. Now."

A bewildered Emma stands to follow the Mother Dragon into her den.

"Come back alive!" David grins through his harsh whisper.

Belle exhales loudly as she stares at her monitor. Sure enough, there are fifteen new email notifications; three of them are from R. Gold.

"Belle, want to join us for lunch?" Emma pipes up from the door; David stands behind her, laughing at something August said. Belle nods her assent and they make their way to the food court.

"You guys heard the rumours?" David asks once they had their orders and found an isolated corner to sit. 'That explains why they choose this spot,' Belle thinks to herself. Choose the noisiest seats with the clearest line of sight, that's the cardinal rule when it comes to office gossip.

"Retrenchment?" August smiles knowingly. "Nothing to worry about," he says at Belle's outburst. "We're a newly formed team; they won't get rid of us any time soon. They moved the three of us from IT to DM and DM is hardly a year old," he points at David, Emma, and himself with a forkful of spaghetti. "Besides, if they are planning on doing exactly that, the IT department is the first to be hanged."

"Everything's in the air, especially when you have an iron hand king for a director and the Red Queen as his assistant." Belle nods at Emma's assessment while taking a bite out of her tuna sandwich. Albert Spencer, the director stationed at their Maine office, is notoriously known for his unmerciful business dealings. Each of Cusco Energy's office has its own local employees carrying out administrative and IT tasks. Spencer played his cards well that within six months, these jobs were centralised in one location, the Maine office. As a result, hundreds of employees were laid off.

In less than a year of holding the directorial position in Maine, Spencer called in a favour from his long-time friend, Cora Mills, to handle this new department. Being under the thumb of the Red Queen, the moniker everyone whispers behind her, is like biting into a frostbitten apple in a snowstorm. Cora is creative in her ruthlessness. If an employee needs to be dismissed, she'll manipulate the situation until your sanity hangs by a gossamer thread that you willingly tender in your resignation. This power couple is as inseparable as a mating horseshoe crab, clinging to one another and openly flirting in broad daylight. Belle groans as her mind conjures images of them exercising long unused muscles on a bed.

"Hey, you okay there, Belle?" Emma asks, eyebrows knitted in worry.

Belle gives a grimacing smile. "My mind went to a place it shouldn't. All this talk of retrenchment... well it is not the best course of action if cost saving is what they're after. Didn't we win a couple of projects last month?"

"We did, but who knows what's in Spencer's head. I suspect he's trying to show the board that he's able to make significant reduction in expenses. If they're impressed, they might entrust him to oversee several budgets," David explains. "And you all know that the more budget you control..."

"The more power you have," Emma completes his sentence. "The more influential you'll be."

Sombre air hangs around them, food pushed around in their plates.

"Look at the bright side; we're still safe for the next three years at most. After that..." August shrugs.

"Regardless of how long we have it doesn't erase the fact they're screwing with us," Belle snarls, "They destroy our dreams to build their own."

"Since we're on the topic of masochistic managers, has Gold bothered you?" August waggles his eyebrows.

Three pairs of eyes look at her intently as she lazily replies, "Yes he has. After I clarified my reasons to him, he came back with answers and 'questions'," Belle makes air quotes. "He said instead of questioning his location's choice to purchase their computers over leasing them, I should provide points why it is better to lease." She makes a face before continuing, "I'm not going to do his research for him so I ignored his query and took whatever information he provided." Six bright orbs twinkle with merriment. "I don't know why but the way he worded his emails irks me. He's one of those people who I want to smash their heads against a thorny wall. Anyway, I never heard from him since."

"That's unusually generous of him." Emma puts her cutleries down. "By the way, I have something to tell you guys and you won't like what I'm about to say." Emma looks at her colleagues seriously. "Remember that day Mel asked for me?" They nodded slowly. "Well, she said that Gold will be on a three-month business trip to our office in February." At everyone's gasp, she raises her hands and continues, "Our team will be collaborating with him to set up a new system."

There was a slight pause before three incredulous voices burst from the group like the angry traders shouting at the New York Stock Exchange. People sitting at a nearby table turn to look at the rambunctious group, shaking their heads and sneering, probably thinking they belong to the all-talk-and-no-action employee species.

"Keep your voices down!" Emma forces Belle back on her chair and smacks David and August on the head with the back of a spoon. Belle's eyes are still the size of saucers and she's quickly losing every bit of colour on her face. The same cannot be said for the two males, a nice shade of red runs from their neck up to their ears, hands gripping tightly to their cutleries.

"Why—" David squeaks after a moment's silence. He clears his throat and tries again, "Why do we have to work with Gold and why are we setting up a new system? And why the hell weren't we looped in?"

Emma relaxes in her chair with her hands in her pockets, thumbs sticking out before explaining, "The existing system is not reliable. We know it; the directors know it. We invested too much time cleaning up the crappy system just so we can provide accurate information. Mel tried to convince Spencer to invest in a new system, but he flat out refused her, so she went to the other directors. No one wants to listen except for Gold."

"Seriously?" Belle says before she realises it.

"Seriously." Emma looks Belle straight in the eyes, "Gold's an asshole, but he's a great businessman with a level head. He's easily swayed if you got your numbers and arguments right and covered all your grounds." August and David nod in agreement. "Anyway, Gold did his research and found an alternative that will provide better data collection. It'll free up time for us to spend on critical tasks and maybe be involved in projects that we were denied. Mel'll give us the lowdown when it's time."

Belle's curiosity piqued at the mention of more projects. Work life has been getting too monotonous for her liking. She's at a phase where waking up in the morning becomes a chore and wishing every day was a Friday. When Friday comes, she wants the weekend to last longer. The woes of an adult! Projects involvement will provide better exposure and smarten up her resume. With varieties of experiences under her belt, she can apply for a more challenging position with better pay and get out of this hellhole.

Something bugs at the back of her mind, though. Gold is the director in their Glasgow office; can he interfere with offices outside of his jurisdiction? Belle is spared from voicing out her thoughts when August asks in her place. Emma assumes it is a game of favourites and office politics. Gold has the CEO's explicit trust, so anything that he suggests or does automatically gets the green light.

Once their lunch hour is over and the group is back behind their desks, thoughts of Gold occasionally flitter through Belle's mind. What kind of person is he behind the beastliness he parades to the world? Even his email address gives no clue to his first name other than the letter R. She guesses she has to wait next month to find out. Maybe he is not as bad as he sounds in his e-mails.

'Speak of the devil,' Belle thinks to herself as she opens a new email from Gold. Her positive outlook of the man flips counter-clockwise as she reads it.

Miss French,

I expect answers, soon.

R. Gold
Regional Business Director, Scotland

Four words. Nothing more. Nothing less. He remembers! She was hoping he would forget about it. What an infuriating man! The next two weeks find Belle researching why Gold's office should lease instead of purchase.

Every passing week was met with dread. Belle's department is swamped with work and the thought of meeting Mr. 'Sunshine' Gold in less than two months shadows their days. Lately, August looks as if he hasn't had a good night's rest, sporting dark circles under his eyes. David sometimes walks around aimlessly like a brainless zombie. It doesn't help matters that his 4-month-old son wakes him and his wife every hour, only falling into deep slumber in the wee hours. Belle stays clear of Emma who has been quite cranky recently; she even tore Cora's head off for rejecting her medical claims. Overall, it is a wretched month for the team.

Adding to their horrible moods, Mel calls for a meeting an hour before their day ends. She blatantly ignores the dissatisfaction written on their face as she addresses them in the meeting room.

"I'm sure Emma informed you of this impending meeting, so I'm going to be direct with you. We're installing a new system and Gold will head this project. The new system will replace the defective one that we have, and this meeting is to clear whatever questions and concerns you may have," Mel directs the last statement at Emma. "Gold will be on a three-month business trip to our office and he's bringing with him a team to set it up. All of you will be involved in the process and I need your cooperation to make this work. I know he's not an easy person to work with," she glares at August's snort, the latter smiles sheepishly before she continues, "But what he's doing will ease some of your workload. No more manual data clean up, no more five different platforms to extract your data, and most importantly, no more cranky directors. Everything will be centralised in one system, the CEMS 1.0."

Mel projects what is on her laptop screen to everyone and explains how CEMS 1.0 is a superior technology in terms of data collection. The new system sounds quite promising. It'll reduce their workload by half and Mel plans on using that freed time to get everyone involved in future projects. They'll be able to concentrate more on their technical duties rather than administrative tasks. If everything goes according to plan, promotion and increment await them at the end of the tunnel. The prospect of sitting in the meeting room past their working hour feels bearable now.

"Gold has outlined actions required of us. Emma, you're the software part of this team, so I'm delegating you to take the lead on this. Distribute the work evenly between every team member and ensure everything is covered. David, you're working with Emma on exporting our critical reports to CEMS 1.0. I need both of you to check that the automated reports work seamlessly with this new system. August and Belle, the two of you need to provide clean and complete data to Emma from all platforms." They nod in acceptance. "Does anyone have further questions or concerns that you want to raise?" Mel looks around the room, taking in the set of sleepy albeit bright eyes. "No one? That's it for today. Go home and get some rest because the coming weeks will be gruelling."

Everyone but Emma and Mel shuffles out of the room. Belle, the last to exit, notices the furrow on Emma's forehead. Before closing the door behind her, she catches part of their heated conversation, "…he blew his chance!"

What? Who? Thinking back to the meeting, Emma didn't look elated at being the leader of this project. Whatever it is that Emma keeps to herself, Belle knows it is only a matter of time before she opens up. When it comes to private life, Emma guards hers with a machete and a hot poker.

True to her words, Mel's department hardly slept a wink. They toiled their way through the coming weeks including the holidays, taking only a week's worth of holiday at most. Crosschecking information from multitudes of platforms against their contracts and the vendors' data slowly wears everyone down. Flaring tempers are directed at the vendor for failing to provide accurate and current information. August has the most taxing tasks due to his habit of updating his records every quarter or the year, causing massive backlogs and clean up on his side. Belle is just glad that she did not listen to August's advice in terms of keeping her records clean.

Gold's team had set up a testing environment, a place where that they can meddle with the system and test its capability in handling continuous information feed. David faces difficulty in exporting their automated report to the environment—the data came out inaccurate. Investigations show the problem is not with the new system, it is with their end. This in turn forces them to rope in the database team for a solution. Their team of four becomes a team of eight, and the bigger the team, the harder it is to handle differing views. The friction between both teams is obvious, each refusing to admit to their faults. Belle nearly gets herself dragged into a clawing match between August and the database team leader. Throughout all this, Emma manages to keep her head on her shoulders, solving hiccups efficiently and effectively. By the time February arrives, everything is finally in order and everyone prays to whatever deity that there'll be no major issues.

When February 1 rears its ugly head on a heavily snowed Monday morning, everyone's nervous energy is tangible in the air. The calm and collected Mel shows a trace of emotion on her usually stoic face. Outwardly, Emma looks indifferent, immersed in her work. Yet to Belle it feels like passing through a room full of static electricity whenever she passes her desk. Perhaps now is not the time to introduce Lord Sparkle McMuffin to the ball of energy that is Emma Swan; maybe she should stay quiet about it until the day ends. Even August and David are unable to sit still. They are talking animatedly about their data, sometimes breaking off to a random topic.

Deciding it best to escape the storm within her team, Belle heads to the pantry with her empty water tumbler before bumping into Cora Mills at a blind corner. The older woman tells her to use her eyes when walking. She stalks off to her office with a sneer plastered on her face.

Belle notices that something is off about the Red Queen today. Cora is always the epitome of perfection and control. Today she looks slightly harried. Hell, even her hair that's usually tied into a tight bun flows freely down her shoulders. Her attire on the other hand exudes command and vicious femininity. Belle imagines the floor trembling in fear with each step that she takes. Even Albert Spencer who enters Cora's office looks a little startled at the change. Belle wonders what kind of conversations those two usually have. Maybe they're planning a shopping trip to get some garters and belts. Lost in her little word, she doesn't realise she has been staring at the couple a second too long. It is in that moment that the Red Queen sweeps her gaze from Spencer to Belle. Her heart beats wildly like a caged humming bird before she turns on her heels and quickly heads to the pantry.

A thought filters through her mind while she washes her tumbler. Spencer must be taking Cora somewhere after work; that's the only explanation for Cora's change. Maybe he'll propose to her. Belle snorts at the mental image her mind conjures. It is a silly bordering on ludicrous thought. Marriage between the two would only end up in murder: Cora by poison and Spencer by a knife wound.

"Never knew washing a tumbler could be that amusing." The hairs on Belle's neck stand on end at the sound of the Red Queen's voice. She turns to the vile woman and gives her a tight smile. "You're the new girl aren't you?" Belle frowns at that. She suspects Cora can see her positively bristling at the use of the word 'girl' judging from the smile on face. "What was your name? Margie? Verna? My apologies," Cora fakes a smile, "I've forgotten it, what with the changes happening and our Scottish director coming here." Acidic politeness drips from the older woman's voice.

"Belle," she answers curtly. "Don't worry, it happens as we age." Belle does not know where this brave madness comes from but at the moment all she can concentrate on is the redness of Cora's neck. The colour spreads all the way down to her chest and further down to a place she wouldn't let her eyes travel for fear of nightmares. Cora is now, literally, the Red Queen. Her mouth opens and closes like a witless goldfish while Belle maintains a passive face.

Belle's career and Cora's dignity are saved when someone comments, "That's a nice shade of crimson, Cora." A man probably in his early fifties leans his weight on a sturdy yet elegant looking cane. Strands of grey hair peek out from his long sandy locks. He's dressed in a fine suit that probably worth as much as Belle's monthly salary. "It matches your lipstick, too," the man adds in what could only be a Scottish brogue.

"Hello, Rodric." The sudden change in Cora's demeanour takes Belle off guard. "It has been such a long time, my dear," the older woman directs her trademark sultry look to Rodric, approaching him like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. "I was told you would come in at 10." From the way he bares his teeth he's clearly unimpressed with her seduction attempts.

"No point in wasting precious time; it is golden as they say." The man directs his gaze at Belle. The hardness that was there disappears as he takes her in, turning almost… impish. The slight crinkles at the edges of his eyes betrays his stern voice, "I'm here for my lease and purchase researcher. Miss French, you're late for the meeting."

Oh. Oh! So this is Mr. Gold.

"Just call me Gold," says the bane of their existence in their team-meeting introduction. Gold, or The Idiot as Belle calls him in her head, is everything and nothing like what she imagines. For starters, she didn't expect him to be so tiny. Not that she is a 6 feet tall model; midget would best describe her petite frame. Most of the Scottish actors she ever had a crush on tower over her—if the information on Google can be trusted—naturally, she thought Gold would be just as tall. Now she feels silly for assuming so. His slight frame on the other hand is another surprise. The man looks underfed. How tall is he, really? It is hard to guess when he sits next to David and August; those two are giants compared to her.

Despite his small stature, Gold has a commanding presence. His very own person appears to take up the room's dimension. The glint in his eyes as he measures those around him makes Belle feel incompetent. As his eyes fall at the back of August's head, she can see the latter shifts imperceptibly in his chair. She imagines Gold poking through the other man's head with a hot steel hidden somewhere in the cane that he uses as a walking aid. Compared to the grudging respect he shows Emma and David, he was apathetic when August introduced himself. Belle's certain Gold harbours no respect for the man.

Belle jerks her head away at the realisation that Gold's sight now rests on her, but not without noticing the smirk gracing his lips. Her body stiffens as someone whispers in her ear, the words ghosting on her skin as shadowy fingers trail a path along her neck, "It's rude to openly stare at someone, darling."

Her thoughts are brought back to the small team of two that Gold brought with him, women who are probably in their late forties. For the life of her she couldn't recall their names. One of them sports hair that was half-dyed white… or was it half-dyed black? It doesn't matter, what she knows is that the woman has a rather feral look in her eyes. There's a layer of uncontrolled danger about her, as if she would push someone off a cliff just for the fun of it. The other woman has beautiful dark skin with a hint of sternness underneath her faceless mask and painted nails. There's no doubt in her mind that these are women capable of mincing you with a few chosen words.

"Breathe, darling," the woman chuckles. Belle gulps in large breaths and sits up straighter at the woman's retreat. The feeling of her hot breath and ghostly hands still lingers on her neck. If the woman notices her edging her closer to Emma she makes no mention of it.

Once the meeting is adjourned, Gold invites the team out for lunch, which means it'll be on the company's tab. Emma rolls her eyes at August's excitement while David and Mel are lost in their world of CEMS 1.0. Gold's team on the other hand decides they won't join—something about them needing drinks stronger than caffeine to combat jet lag. That leaves Belle alone with Gold, who effortlessly follows their pace.

"Finally I get to meet you in person, Miss French," starts Gold.

"And I have a face to put to your name," she replies.

"Not what you expected, I assume?"

"No. Not at all. I thought you'd look like Spencer," Belle glances at him.

"I'm not that prehistoric, Miss French," he chuckles. "Before I forget, I would like to have a short meeting with you and Miss Swan after lunch—oh, don't give me that look, dearie. It's not going to be that horrible." Belle looks at him sceptically before looking ahead to see that they are already far behind.

Lunch is a delicious and ridiculously expensive affair, far from what Belle would spend on a mere lunch break. She sits trapped between Gold and Mel. The two of them keep exchanging barbs that she feels like she's in the middle of a tennis match. That is how she learns they were grudging roommates back in their university days and that Gold likes to nick other people's ramen noodles.

"Never trust a dragon's words," Gold whispers in her ears when Mel accuses him of his crime.

"How long have you been with Cusco Energy?" August asks Gold when their conversations come to a lull.

"A decade by next month. Won't be long before I retire and get off everyone's back."

Nervous laughter trickles through the group as their orders arrive.

"You're retiring? When? Why?" A deep frown settles on Mel's face.

"I have been postponing something that should have been taken care of years ago," Gold pauses at Emma's silent cough, "I need to make amends and set things right."

It was a quick glance but Belle's certain Mel's eyes go to Emma before she promptly covers it by calling for a waiter and then steers their conversation to other topics.

On their way back from lunch there's an incessant itch following her since Mel's kerfuffle. David walks alongside Emma and it is plain for all to see the rigidity in their interactions. David's and Emma's relationship has always been close, often being mistaken for siblings—David the loving and protective brother and Emma the unruly and cynical sister. This is the first time Belle sees David tiptoeing around Emma, as if she would burst into flames if he were to touch her.

"Did you see what happened back there?" August nudges her in the shoulder.

"See what?" If August is digging for information then he could get it from someone else.

"Come on, Belle, don't play the dumb blonde with me," Belle shoots him a glare, "You sat next to Mel. You saw how her eyes darted to Emma when Gold said he needed to right a wrong."

"I saw nothing of the sort and I would appreciate it if you'd stop calling me an airhead," she practically spits the words before turning up her nose at him and increasing her pace. She ignores his apologies as he catches up to her.

By the time everyone's back in the office, darkness settles on their mood. Even the weather outside reflects the sombre air. The little light that peeks in that morning gives way to grey skies. The roads are nearly covered with snow and pedestrians walk with black umbrellas, turning everything gloomier with the lack of colours. If she squints hard enough she could see figures huddling near an amber glowing object. Next to them is a group of adults throwing snowballs at each other. How she wishes she could escape the stifling atmosphere in her office!

The sound of a received message draws Belle's attention from the world outside her office window. On her monitor screen is a message from R. Gold, telling her to come to the discussion room near the reception area. With a pen and a notebook in her hand, she heads to the room.

Sparks of electricity prickles her skin when she opens the door. Emma is burning holes through the table while spinning a pen with her right hand. Gold is the perfect picture of calmness. Belle gives him a tentative smile and sits on a chair that is nearest to the door. It is best to sit near the exit lest one of them decides to rip the other's head.

"French, where is your laptop?" Gold scowls at her.

"You said it is going to be a short meeting," Belle replies.

"Next time please come prepared. Go get your laptop now."

Back in the room with her laptop, Gold begins their discussion, "This is going to be a brief introduction on the state of Glasgow's assets. I believe we're the only office left to transfer our data to you?" Emma and Belle nod their heads. "Spencer played it well," he chuckles darkly. "French, I sent you an email attachment listing out Glasgow's assets that'll be transferred to lease. Did you receive it?"

"Yes,"

"We have roughly 2,000 assets. None of their contracts are ready as of yet, but when they are they'll be forwarded to you. I need you to check everything stated in the contract."

"Got it," she replies. This should be easy. It is not different from her usual work.

"When the invoices come in, you need to verify them. Keep track of the returned assets because I don't trust the vendors to do their job right."

"Wait, Mr. Gold." He gives the look of someone who is not used to being interrupted. "I don't do invoices. That's the accounting team's role."

"Ah, Mel probably forgot that little detail. French, as of today, your job officially involves invoice verification."

"But, but—"

"But our role is not accounting. We're technical people doing some administrative tasks," Emma interrupts. "What's the point of having the accounting team if we're going to be doing their work for them?"

Gold leans in his chair, fingers steeple in front of him and elbows resting on his chair's arms. He looks directly at Emma. "I'm well aware of that and everything that goes on in this office, Swan. What you're not aware of is the mess that the accounting team here has made. Our offices entrust the Maine office to keep their books straight; instead of doing that, your office blindly copied the invoices, thus, allowing the vendors to overcharge us." He sneers before continuing, "The team here is incompetent—no, not yours. The accounting team." Emma, who is half-way out of her chair, sits back. Her eyes never leaving Gold's. "You do your job while I do mine."

"Fine," Emma says through gritted teeth. "If that will be all?"

"No, we're not done yet. We barely even started," he smiles thinly, baring a golden tooth in place of his lower canine. And that's how Belle got to know Mr. Gold, the bane of her existence for the next three months.

Over the course of the next ten days, the DM team is a flurry of activities. The storm gathering outside is a reflection of the chaos within the team. Warnings of snowstorm blare through the radio. Every employee within its vicinity quickly finishes any last minute work before hitting the road home. The working souls in the Maine office rejoice when they receive an email releasing them of their duties two hours early. No one is keen on spending their night stuck at their workplace.

"Belle, what's that thing you've been hiding under a towel?" The woman in question turns to David with a quizzical look on her face. "That thing that I see you putting wet cotton balls."

"Oh! It is my neighbour's arachnid..." Belle looks anxiously at David's face, half-expecting him to run away screaming.

"Can I take a look?" he grins ear-to-ear. Belle answers with a grin of her own before she lifts up the towel and turns on the light to the tiny enclosure that houses said spider.

"Where is—oh, look at those colours!" He cocks his head to the side before a slight crease forms on his forehead. "I've never seen this species. What's it called?"

"Sparklemuffin!" Belle squeals and bounces a little in her chair.

"Is that his—" David begins before he's cut off by an exuberant Belle.

"Seriously, he is called Sparklemuffin. That's his official nickname, but Maratus jactatus is its scientific name. Just look at him, isn't he adorable?" She coos at the arachnid, as if it is gurgling baby.

"He's unique. So you're caring for him while your neighbours are on vacation?" David watches the small spider, that is less than the size of his thumb, jumps about the container; its brightly coloured abdomen sparkles under the light. Belle nods and explains dejectedly that she has to return Lord Sparkle McMuffin, as she has taken to calling it, the day after tomorrow.

Their conversation is interrupted by Mr. Gold's approach. He points David to the door leading to the war room. It had earned its name due to the litter of extension cords, LAN cables, and marker pens while ineligible writing in varying colours paints the room's whiteboard. A number of heated discussions and near shouting matches later cements the infamous name.

As 3 p.m. approaches, the office is nearly deserted. David and Emma bid their goodbyes to Belle before leaving the office. Alone, Belle looks out her window. The storm has steadily worsened; darkness engulfs the city, creating a picturesque starless city sky.

Tuning to her cellphone's radio once again, it tells her the storm is not dying anytime soon. Packing her things and ensuring Lord Sparkle McMuffin's container is ensconced in her backpack, she heads out to the lift lobby. She's about to exit the door when she notices the war room's lights are still on. Fear creeps through her as a shadow appears on the door's sidelights. Only when a familiar Scottish drawl washes over her does she release the breath she had been holding.

"Gold, you're not heading back to your hotel?" she asks when it becomes apparent he did not hear the door creaking open.

The small man who is bending over a thick volume stops his scribbling and muttering. He looks out the glass window to see darkness engulfing the city. A slight crease forms on his forehead before he rises from his bended posture. A silver watch glints in the brightly lit room before a tired face rises to read the time.

"3 p.m."

"We're given early release. A snowstorm is approaching."

The man makes a noncommittal sound. "You head along, Miss French. My hotel is just across the street."

"Well then, good—" the sudden darkness halts her mid-sentence.

"Wonderful. Just wonderful," Gold mutters. "Just where are you going, French?" he says to the sound of doors opening and closing. Later, a frustrated groan echoes in the distance. He feels the beginnings of a smirk forming. Gold reaches for the phone in his trouser's pocket and flips through the screen. Tapping on what he's searching for, soft white light engulfs the room. He points it to the door when it opens to reveal an annoyed Belle French. She flinches from the blinding light, a hand uselessly tries to block out the light.

"Done with your tantrums, French?"

"Shut it, Gold."

The frustrated woman throws her bag down. She slides against the wall and sits on the ground.

"The lift is not working," she pouts. He only shrugs in response.

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence before Belle tries to strike up a conversation. It started awkwardly before they find a common interest. He tells her of Scotland and its highlands, a country she dreams of visiting one day. Its weather may be dismal, but when the sun deigns to grace its land with her presence, only one word can describe the scenery: mystical.

"What's Australia like? It certainly has quite a collection of exotic animals," Gold asks.

"Full of dangerous animals out to kill you," Belle says wistfully.

"You missed being in constant danger?" Before she can reply he continues, "But no, you're not that type. I think you miss the accent seeing how you still retain it despite being here for five years."

"Just what are you implying?" her accent thickens with her flaring temper.

"Well, you sound very... nasal." Oh, how Belle wants to wipe that smirk off the idiot's face.

"I. Am. Not. Nasal! Sparklemuffin can attest to that." Way to go Belle, show him how childish you can be.

"Sparklemuffin? Is that what you named your cat?"

"No, it's a Maratus jactatus and I have him right here next to me," she declares before stiffening as she remembers how hard her backpack hit the ground. She rummages through her backpack, all the while muttering 'No, no, no' when it dawns on her the container's lid came off. Turning on her phone's flashlight, she frantically searches the container for a glimpse of bright colours. When there's no sign of the spider, she gets on her knees and starts feeling the ground in the dimly lit room.

"Just what are you doing?" Belle does not hear him approaching her crouched form.

"Sparklemuffin!"

"You put your cat in your bag?"

"NO! He's my neighbour's spider. I'm taking care of him while they're away. He's a tiny thing, so be careful and don't step on him. You get that Gold? Gold—" she stops her frantic search when the object of her frustration stands as rigid as a mannequin. Wide and horrified eyes contrast his usual acerbic self. Is that a bead of sweat forming on his temples? Is he breathing at all?

Up on her feet, Belle approaches the frozen man. Snapping her fingers in front of his face brings the man out of his shocked state.

"You okay, Gold?" Licking his lips, he nods at her stiffly before stuttering out a 'yes'. Something is off. Gold does not stutter. He acted differently when—oh. Belle is going to put her theory to test.

"Sparklemuffin is an arachnid." Up this close, she clearly sees a ticking vein at the top of his left eyebrow. "He's from Australia, has a brightly coloured bottom and is quite venomous." This time his bobbing adam's apple joins the ticking vein. Deciding to take pity on the man, Belle explains that its small size means it venom is harmless to humans.

"Good night, French," Gold says suddenly. He starts packing away his laptop; only stopping when Belle reminds him the power is out and the only way down is via the staircase. Considering they are thirty floors high, attempting such exercise only means a painful week for a gimp man. He shoots her a dirty look before limping out the room—eyes and phone's flashlight constantly scanning for anything moving and colourful.

"The spider is too tiny to kill you, Gold," the Australian woman explains once she catches up to him. Her phone's flashlight joins Gold's in lighting up their path.

"I don't believe you, French. Not after that prank you pulled on August." He increases his speed.

"Ugh, he deserves it and you enjoyed it. I saw you smirk, Gold!" She realises that they are heading towards the men's loo.

"Whatever."

He stops short from entering the toilet; his hand on its door handle begins to sweat.

"What are you waiting for? You obviously need to pee judging from your pace." He gives her a scathing look before setting his sight back to the door, as if waiting for it to tell him it is okay to enter. "He's not in the toilet, Gold. For the umpteenth time, he is not venomous to human beings! Your privates are safe!"

"I don't believe you."

"Ugh, whatever. I'm off to find Sparklemuffin." She stalks back to the office, ducking under desks and moving chairs in search for her neighbour's arachnid.

Belle bounces on her feet with a goofy smile on her face—a tightly shut container in her hands. Knocking on the men's door, she calls out for Gold who has been in there for over an hour. She assures him the brightly coloured spider is safely tucked away in his tiny home. At the sound of running water and later the door opening, she thrusts the container in front of Gold's face.

The man stumbles backwards with a squeal while she holds the door open, again, shoving the object near his face.

"Get that thing away from me, French, I mean it!" Gold quickly hobbles out the toilet as gracefully and fast as he can. The deranged woman, for that is what she closely resembles, prances closer to him.

"That's for being a big meanie, you old codger," she giggles madly.

When her game of prey and predator ceases, she takes pity on the man. That's not before she extracts an apology out of him for all the times he has been cruel to her and for his nasty remarks. She in turn puts the 'dangerous' invertebrate away.

"You're cruel, French, to an invalid no less."

Belle pulls her coat tighter around her. The snowstorm doesn't look like it'll abate any time soon. She looks at the man sitting in August's chair and staring out into the storm. His phone's flashlight enhances the tinge of pink blooming on his cheeks. She recalls the way he nearly tripped over his cane, his right leg barely supporting his weight. When he flinched, there was no doubt of the pain shooting through his leg. She bites her lower lip and cast her eyes down.

"I was exhausted of your snide remarks that I flipped and thought it hilarious to terrorise you. To see the commanding Gold loses his shit is an opportunity that's hard to pass up," Gold raises an eyebrow at her. "You've been a thorn at my side since your first e-mail. You want answers within 24 hours and expect someone to work through the night to get them. You don't accept no for an answer and you're never willing to help out when needed. We have a process that we need to follow, but you go about getting what you want in such a roundabout way that you got us into trouble." She raises her voice with every word uttered.

"You know as well as I do that your process is full of gibberish double-work—you can thank Albert Spencer for that. Cora helps him make everything more miserable for everyone. Quite a couple, they are."

"Let's steer the conversation away from His and Her Wickedness, okay." Belle rubs her eyes and sticks out her tongue as if she's gagging.

Gold cocks his head to the side. An opportunist to the core, he plots his revenge. "Albert has a penchant for a screamer and Cora's great at faking it."

"GOLD! DAMN IT, STOP!" Belle covers her ears against invisible screams. "How the hell do you—wait, no, I don't need to know." She hops off the table she's been sitting on and starts to sing her alphabets with fingers sticking in her ears. The item at the top of her shopping list would be a bleaching agent once she's out of this office. She walks in circles and trips when Gold sticks his cane in her path.

After a couple of well-placed insults they once again lapsed into silence.

"Why Cora?" she blurts out. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It's just... Cora?" She makes a face at him.

"Let's just say that she was there when I was at my lowest," he rubs his fingers together. She does not know what prompts him to say this next, "I—I lost someone precious to me. Naturally, we tend to gravitate to anyone who shows a little kindness at our darkest time." Open and honest eyes take her by surprise before they turn empty. Those scant seconds are more than enough to reveal the man beneath the hard mask. And probably the closest that she'll get to him.

Belle nods her head. "Someone I know was in your shoes once upon a time. She lost her husband in an accident. She wanted to forget the pain so she began a relationship with an eyeliner dude before she was ready. It was toxic. She ended it before it got worse. Her husband's father came into the story in the middle of that mess. He was a downright bastard and blamed her for his son's death. She packed and got as far away as she can from her past. Now she lives a happy life with her son."

"Sounds a lot similar to mine," Gold smiles sadly. "What's left of my boy is his son, but I rejected him and his mother. I don't know how to fix the rift."

Belle wonders if she can forgive someone who wronged her in such way. Being spiteful to an adult is understandable, but only a heartless man would extend that to an innocent child. Even if there is forgiveness in the future, there will always be that veil of doubt between them. Gold doesn't deserve her comfort, not now, not when she's feeling vindictive. It is too deep a reminder of her father.

"You hate this old monster more than before." It isn't a question.

"I don't hate you." She realises it is not a lie. "I've never hated you. You're annoying. You're petty. You're difficult, but I don't hate you." She licks her lips, contemplating what to say next. "Right now, I dislike you. You shouldn't have done that to a child." He hangs his head in shame. "But I believe in forgiveness and chances." Belle has to look away as she takes in his eyes that shine with incredulity and gratitude.

Looking out the window, the storm still shows no signs of abating.

"Since we're stuck here, let's make ourselves comfortable." Belle hops off the table that she's been sitting on and opens her drawers. She takes out two cylindrical objects. Unrolling them reveal them to be sleeping bags.

"Ah, so this is your elaborate plan all along. You're not my type, French," Gold teases her. Belle only laughs at his quip.

When morning comes, the two trapped employees wake up to bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Thick snow covers the city, looking more like a winter wonderland from a children's book.

The electricity is back up and the lifts are working. Only after the snow is cleared do Belle and Gold say their goodbyes. Before they part, Belle gives Gold the advice that he takes to heart: "Instead of begging for forgiveness, show that you've changed. Emma will come around."

As she ambles along the white streets, Gold's only functional thought is that Belle French is more astute than he expected.